


You Get a Phone Call From the Queen With a Hundred Heads

by Anonymous



Series: Return to Oz [4]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Dancing Lessons, Eliot Waugh is Extra, M/M, POV Quentin Coldwater, Quentin Never Finds Answers Because Eliot Keeps Distracting Him From Study Time, Sub Quentin Coldwater, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24568507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There's still that ball to prepare for... and Quentin needs Eliot's help preparing.Or, at least, he's letting Eliot 'prepare' him.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Return to Oz [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748788
Comments: 22
Kudos: 67
Collections: Anonymous





	You Get a Phone Call From the Queen With a Hundred Heads

“Playing hooky from court? _Naughty_. Can I join you?”

Eliot doesn’t really wait for an answer, but then, Quentin was never going to tell him no. He can’t help but remember the last time Eliot found him in the library-- the time Eliot laid his head in Quentin’s lap. The time Quentin walked him to his door, the things that they said and the things that they didn’t. The way Eliot had said ‘my king’ that first time and what it did to him...

“Studying. We still have a wellspring problem.” He holds his book up. “And it’s a big problem.”

“And there’s no telling when Penny and Alice are coming back, if ever.” Eliot heaves a sigh and leans into Quentin’s side. 

“Penny has his own big problem, is what I’m gathering. And Alice is pretty burned out on Fillory.”

“Are you?”

“Have you met me?” He laughs, surprised, but Eliot’s eyes are dark and serious. “ _No_. It was no the last time you asked, it’s no now.”

“It’s been pretty disillusioning for you, hell, ever since the haunted fucking Plover house. I wouldn’t blame you, if you… if you needed to get away from it all now.”

“I don’t. Everything I want is still here.”

For a long moment Eliot looks wordlessly into his eyes, the too much he may have revealed hanging there between them, and then he turns away, pasting on a smile.

“Good, good. I need someone to appreciate my outfits without trying to outdo them.”

“Right. Just that.”

“It’s dangerous work dressing for the job, you know. Well, no, I guess you don’t.” He plucks at Quentin’s sleeve, until he gets an eye roll. “You’ll never believe what I found in my wardrobe this morning.”

“You’re not going to try and tell me someone booby trapped your closet.”

Eliot ignores the interruption. “A _lion_. Naturally I asked him what the hell he was doing with my shit. You know what he said?”

“What?”

“Narnia business.” Eliot says, and holds Quentin’s eye until Quentin is doubled over snorting, trying not to laugh ugly. “Please never tell anyone you got that from _me_ , because I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Okay, but you know, knowing this place… I was ready to believe you had a wild animal-wardrobe disaster.”

“Well… once I shot an elephant in my pajamas…” Eliot nudges at him and Quentin groans.

“And how he got in your pajamas, you’ll never know. That one I’ve heard.”

“Speaking of wardrobes, I have your outfit. For the ball. _Well I bet that you’ll look good on the dance floor_ …”

“Wait, I have to dance now?”

“... Q, it’s a _ball_. You’re a _king_. Were you not expecting to dance?”

“Kinda not planning on it?” He squeaks, watching the look Eliot has fixed on him go from amused to something else entirely.

To that look he sometimes gets that pins Quentin in place and makes him want to say yes. Not to dancing, just… just to Eliot.

“You have to dance.” 

“Well, I would.” He says, because that look is doing things to him. “If I knew how to. But I guess since I don’t, then I can’t!”

“What? You seriously can’t dance?”

Now, this is a loaded question, which he could answer in perfect honesty, but he’s pretty sure if Eliot _ever_ witnessed the spectacle that is Quentin dancing, he would agree that he really cannot and should not and does not know how. Like, the hours he spent choreographing dance routines with Julia probably say a lot about him, but one thing they do not say is ‘this is a man who should dance in front of people, he’s good at it’.

“I mean, I _have_ danced, but I would not say that this means that I _can_ dance.” He says, because that’s as close as he can possibly get to the truth without actually busting a move. Although that might actually destroy any attraction Eliot feels towards him, which he knows he’s supposed to want. “Like, it could be pretty well attested to that I can’t dance, so-- why are you looking at me like that?”

Because this isn’t the look of fond amusement and it isn’t that look that Quentin tries very hard not to think too much about because every time he thinks about it he feels a little tipsy. This is a feverish determination, of the kind that usually ends with statements like ‘hold my drink’ and ‘watch this’, only this is Eliot, so probably actually something much more dangerous.

“I could teach you how to dance.” Eliot nods.

Yup. Much more dangerous.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea…”

“I’m going to save you with the power of an eighties training montage dance lesson.”

“That’s definitely not a good idea.”

Eliot places a hand over his. And Eliot’s hand is… warm, and it’s big, and there is that thrum of power beneath his skin that’s only partly magic. Some of it is just that he’s Eliot, and with the lightest touch, he could bid something in Quentin to bend.

“Of course, the Breakfast Club dance montage isn’t really… tutorial in nature. Oh, but there’s Footloose! Footloose, Ren teaches Willard how to dance.” He licks his lips. “Honestly, I always kind of thought they had chemistry… I mean, with the walkman, Ren is essentially leading him around on a leash, it’s very unintentionally sexy. So I don’t know if that’s the vibe you want, but it is a two-boy training montage dance lesson.”

Quentin should say something, possibly, because Eliot has stopped talking and is looking at him like it is in fact his turn to speak, but the word _leash_ is ringing in his head. Eliot holding a leash, Quentin on that leash, he’s not thinking about dancing or balls-- well, not… not the kind of ball he’s supposed to be thinking about. 

“Or…” Eliot slides fingertips up his arm. “I mean… we could work out something… really impressive.”

“Leash?” Quentin says. He absolutely does not mean to.

“Ohh, you are… wow. Let’s put a pin in that. Come on.” He rises again, and extends a hand. “Put the book down--”

“Wait, now?”

“Dance with me.”

“El…” He shakes his head, but he puts his hand in Eliot’s, he gets to his feet. When Eliot holds out his other hand, Quentin takes that, too.

“Okay. Now… you’re just going to move with me. It’s all in your hips. Take a step back-two-three-four, now come forward-two-three-four, it’s also a little in your feet, let’s not forget that it’s also a little in your feet, I may have downplayed their importance when I said it was all in your hips. Move your hips like I’m moving my hips, except when I come forward you go back, when I go back, you come forward, same with the feet-two-three-four and up-two-three-four.”

He should have known that Eliot would be unfairly good at this. He’s graceful, hips swiveling, everything about him elegant, fluid, poised… 

“I don’t think I’m going to learn anything impressive in a good way by the time you want to throw this ball.”

“Oh ye of little faith. Just follow my lead. Back straight-- come on, you’re a _king_ , head up, shoulders down. Eyes on me. _I’ve been meaning to tell you_...”

Eliot doesn’t have to tell him where to focus his eyes. Well, all right, Eliot has to redirect them back up several times because Quentin keeps looking at his feet and his hips instead of at his face, but in his defense, he’s just trying to follow.

Eliot sings under his breath until Quentin has the most basic steps down, and then he positions Quentin’s arms.

“I want you to hold right here, got it? These stay right where daddy puts them.”

Quentin is pretty sure Eliot is teaching him to dance the girl’s part of whatever dance he’s teaching him, which he would complain about, except everything Eliot is saying and the way he moves him is just… short-circuiting all the parts of Quentin that do things like complain, or think.

“Right.” He nods. His arm is resting against Eliot’s and Eliot is… is warm, and strong, and his shirt feels all silky and it’s barely really _there_.

“I need you to be stiff.”

“I have a feeling that’s not going to be a problem.” 

Quentin feels like he imagines a deer does when a mack truck is bearing down on it at seventy five miles per hour, and he probably doesn’t look markedly different. Eliot’s reaction doesn’t give him any added faith in his ability to keep cool.

“Your _arms_. But thank you, that does my ego good. _Now I’ve… got you in my sights_ , two-three-four… _good_ , just like that. I want you to keep to this rhythm, but you’re going to do a little spin, then I’m going to do a little spin.”

“Spin?”

“Mm. Under my arm, just like, a little twirl. Just a little spin out and back, then you hold your arm up for me and I’m going to really have to duck. But it’s okay, we’re going to make it work.”

“Yeah, am I learning the girl part?”

“There’s no girl part here. There’s just my part and your part.”

“Because it feels like I’m learning the girl part.”

“You are five foot six, bitch, I’m six foot two.”

“I’m five foot eight, _bitch_.” Quentin laughs, and he stumbles a little the first couple of times they try the twirl, but Eliot catches him before his feet can go out from under him on the worst of the attempts.

“I stand corrected. Still fun-sized.”

“I’ll show you fun-sized, _you_ twirl. Come on, big man, twirl for me.”

Eliot’s eyes sparkle, and he guides Quentin’s arm up, ducks down under in an _unfairly_ graceful spin, before tugging Quentin back into position.

“That’s how it’s done, fun-size.”

“Don’t call me ‘fun-size’. How’s the weather up there?”

“It’s all rainbows two-three-four and up two-three-four, now bring your leg up so your thigh is parallel to the ground.”

“What? No. I don’t think I can do that.”

“Yeah. Knee bent, this isn’t a high kick, you swing your knee up to where I am putting my hand, put your knee in my hand.”

This is a perilously bad idea, but Eliot is… commanding, and Quentin makes the mistake of looking into his eyes and suddenly he’s putting his knee in Eliot’s hand and Eliot’s other hand is sliding up to spread wide across his back and Eliot’s smile goes all sly.

“Hold onto me.” He instructs, and then he’s dipping Quentin back. It’s brief, but it leaves him dizzied. “Good, now back two-three-four, up two-three-four, you should be taking my hand, my hand is back up, that’s where your hand goes, arms locked, back to basics.”

“What was that?”

“That was razzle-dazzle, baby. Now when you turn two-three-four, I’m not going to want you to spin back two-three-four, to face me two-three-four, you’re going to _turn_ two-three-four out to my right two-three-four, and then _slide_ two-three-four to our left two-three-four, and I’ll come up two-three-four to your back two-three-four… you ready two-three-four? Now turn.”

Eliot twirls him out so they’re facing the same way and then Eliot is up against his back, guiding his arms into position, one hand at his hip and the other…

“We’re… not doing this in front of people.” Quentin swallows, as Eliot’s hand finishes its slow trail down his side only to spread out across his abdomen, Eliot’s hips still swiveling, he can feel how Eliot’s hips are still swiveling… They weren’t pressed close before but now they’re close enough… “We can’t. This is…”

“Keep dancing.” Eliot whispers, hot against his ear. “Yes, we can. This is… one of the traditional dances of Earth. The performance of which is _vital_ to my first ball as High King, celebrating our coronations and our recent victory and… you know, all the rest.”

“Traditional dances of Earth? You really think no one’s going to call you on your horseshit?”

“My horseshit two-three-four saved this _country_ two-three-four, now back to face me, arms coming into position.”

“This is… I’m not a dancer.”

“Oh, Q, one lesson does not a training montage make.” Eliot tsks. “Tomorrow, after your fitting… dance with me again. I have one more move to teach you and it’s the best one. Tomorrow?”

“I don’t know if we--”

“Come dance with me, just the two of us. Let’s go out where no one will find us and let’s just _dance_.” Eliot implores him-- _implores_ him!-- and Quentin can’t refuse. Not with the way Eliot looks at him, not with Eliot holding his hand, guiding him, keeping him from stumbling over himself completely.

There are a lot of things they don’t get to do… maybe they can have a dance.

“Yeah. After my fitting.” He nods. “We’ll dance.”


End file.
